Page 31 of Infernal Affairs

I wince.

“But you're also the whole damn bouquet.”

Something in my chest loosens.

“He'd be lucky to have you.”

Clover simply nods, as though this has always been an obvious truth.

The oven timer dings, filling the bakery with the buttery perfume of fresh bread—a smell that's always felt like a hug from the inside.

I hurry toward the ovens while Zelda grabs a pair of potholders and performs an unnecessarily dramatic dance as she helps me unload the trays.

“See?” she says. “We're a well-oiled machine. You just need to bring that same energy to dinner.”

I roll my eyes.

“Not sure how well oiling Enoch will go over.”

Zelda wheezes so hard she nearly drops a loaf.

“Oh my God, Daisy. Maybe save the puns until after dessert.”

We arrange the bread on the cooling racks, and I try to picture tonight: my hair down, a dress that doesn't scream practical baker, and Enoch sitting across my little kitchen table. I imagine looking him in the eyes until those smoke-dark irises catch the tiny flecks of gold I love so much.

I'm not sure I can pull it off.

But if I let anxiety win now, I'll always wonder.

And I don't want to be that person anymore.

Clover shoos us toward the front of the bakery, insisting the bread will cool just fine without our constant supervision. She brews herself a cup of tea by the front window before gesturing for us to join her.

It feels strangely ceremonial.

Like a pre-date blessing.

“Last chance,” she says. “Confidence charm? Glamour? Tiny hex for your own amusement?”

I actually consider it.

Then I shake my head.

“I want to do this myself.”

“He'd know anyway.”

Clover smiles.

“He would.”

“And it's better that way.”

Zelda nudges my shoulder.

“So...what are you wearing?”

“A dress.”